


The Kids Aren't Alright

by postapocalyptic_cryptic



Series: Star Wars Playlist as Fics [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Character Death, Child Abuse, Child Soldiers, Clone Trooper Decommissioning (Star Wars), Dehumanization, Force-Sensitive Clone Trooper, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hunter (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) Needs A Hug, Hurt No Comfort, Kaminoans Being Assholes (Star Wars), Planet Kamino (Star Wars), Poor Dizzy I'm sorry dude, Siblings, Tragedy, the character death is of the oc in case anyone is concerned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28587390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postapocalyptic_cryptic/pseuds/postapocalyptic_cryptic
Summary: The story of how the Bad Batch came to be the force it is today, from test tube to final roster.orET-012 and the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad life."And with the black banners raised as the crooked smiles fadefor the heros who quit too late,who just wanna fill up the trophy case again."-The Kids Aren't Alright, Fall Out Boy
Relationships: Hunter & Tech (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Hunter & Wrecker (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Hunter (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) & Original Clone Trooper Character
Series: Star Wars Playlist as Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093802
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	The Kids Aren't Alright

**Author's Note:**

> CW for the r-slur, which, though it is a word I can reclaim, makes some people understandable uncomfy. Feel free to click away if you need to!

ET-012 is trying his best. Really, he is, but it’s  _ hard  _ and sometimes, he gets the feeling that he didn’t come out of the tube right. He just… can’t do what the officers are asking, no matter how hard he tries. 

“ET-012! What are you doing?” Before ET-012 can answer, Trainer Kalin grabs him by the hair and drags him to the ground. “It’s not that hard.” 

“Sorry, sir,” he gasps, neck cramping from the angle it’s held at. “I’m trying, sir.” 

ET-012  _ has  _ been trying, and for hours nonetheless. In order to move on to his ‘special training,’ whatever that is, he’s got to pass basic weapons proficiency. It shouldn’t be so hard, it’s just a staff, after all, but the ringing that follows ET-012 wherever he goes is much louder here, morphing into shifting shapes around the edges of his vision and cutting through his head at exactly the wrong moments. 

Trainer Kalin’s staff collides with his legs again. “Get up.” 

ET-012 gets up and tries again.

* * *

“Cadet!” 

“Yes, sir.” ET-012 stands up straighter, trying to appear at least comparable in height to his older brothers. 

“How old are you?” The man asking is Trainer Elikne. Kalin had abandoned him, left him in the middle of a training session after declaring him unteachable. Now, he trains with the growth cycle above him to ensure that he’s ready for his special position. They still won’t tell him what that is. He still hears things no one else can. 

“Two and a half standard, sir.” 

The other cadets snicker and Elikne gives them a sharp look. Then, he turns back to ET-012 and raises an eyebrow. “What’s your number, cadet?” 

“ET-”

“That explains it,” Elikne says. “I told ‘em a million kriffing times to stop karking around up there, but do they listen? Nope, just keep pumping out a bunch’a defects and retards. It ain’t natural.” Elikne shakes his head. “Alright, ET-whateverthefuck, why don’t you show all us  _ normies  _ how easy it is? Scale that tower.” 

“Yes sir.” 

* * *

“ET-012, I hope you understand just what kind of a position you’re in here. If you fail, I’ll have no choice but to decommission you.” Elikne looks down his upturned nose at ET-012, eyes hard as the durasteel he throws the cadets against. 

“I understand, sir.” ET-012 can hardly hear himself speak for the ringing. 

“Alright. Begin.” 

* * *

ET-012 fails. He gets halfway through the obstacle course only to be taken out by an older cadet. They don’t even give him droids to train against. They never do. Always real people, maybe so he can see the disdain in their eyes. 

Elikne lets him have one more night. ET-012 isn’t sure if it’s a mercy or some final torture. He shakes as he showers, trembles so hard he nearly drops his toothbrush. Now, lying perfectly still in his tube, sleep has never been further away. 

This is it. He’s tried, but he’s failed. It’s fine. ET-012 isn’t a real person anyway. None of them are, but him least of all. He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the ringing. 

The ringing is something he wishes he’d gotten an answer to before the end. Even after three years, he’s not sure what he’s hearing that others aren’t. ‘Hearing’ isn’t quite the right word, either. He’s just… aware of it. Presumably, it has something to do with why he’s trained separately. Wouldn’t they want to tell him about it, then? How does not knowing help anything?

Then, there are steps in the dorm room. Has one of the older boys gotten up? ET-012 holds his breath. 

“-Don’t understand, he’s not trainable.” That’s Elikne. “It was an experiment, and it failed, so we study what we can and get rid of the rest.”

Then, a female voice he’s never heard before cuts in. “Elikne, he’s a human boy, and a young one at that. He deserves a chance. And didn’t you say he complains about a ringing noise? That could be the sensitivity they were aiming for.” 

“Either way,” Elikne replies, “he’s no good if he can’t be a footsoldier first. And he can’t, you’ve seen that.” 

“You’ve never worked with Force-sensitive children,” the woman snaps. “Or special needs ones. I’ve worked with both, and I can tell you that that boy needs the same kind of attention. He’s perfectly capable of being the- the  _ weapon  _ you want him to be, but you have to help him.” 

There’s a pause in the conversation and the footsteps draw closer, stopping right under ET-012’s bunk. He holds his breath. Then, “Fine. What do you suggest?” 

“Give him another chance. Put him in with the 99.” 

The footsteps head away. ET-012 lets out the breath he’d been holding.

* * *

The next morning, a hand grabs him out of the morning meal line. It’s Elikne, holding him by the scruff of the neck and staring down that  _ stupid  _ nose. “Go back to the dorms and pack your things,” he says. “You’re not dying today, so grab all of it.” 

It takes ET-012 three minutes to get back to the barracks and cram all of his equipment into his bag. He spends the next seven standing at attention beside his locker. He’s never been alone in the barracks before. The ringing is nicer like this, more contained to the nice shapes around the edges of things. Patterns glow in the walls. ET-012 gets so caught up in tracing them that he almost misses it when the door hisses open. 

He stiffens, prepared for Elikne to drag him off to wherever ‘The 99’ is, but instead of him, a woman he’s never seen before walks through the door. She’s a tall humanoid with long blue and white things trailing from her head and she’s dressed in the robes of a Jetii. She looks at him and smiles. She’s the most beautiful thing ET-012’s ever seen. 

“Are you ET-012?” she asks, and oh, she’s the woman from last night, the nice one who convinced Elikne not to have him decommissioned! Is he dreaming?

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She laughs. “At ease, cadet.” ET-012 lets his shoulders down just a bit, not sure what she’s aiming for. “You’ve been doing very well in your training, but I’ve noticed that you need some special assistance, yes?” ET-012 isn’t sure how to respond properly, so he stays quiet. “I’ve been told you can sense things that others don’t. Is this correct?” He nods. “Good! That’s very good. 

“You’re a very special cadet, ET-012, and it’s time you’re treated as such. Those things you’re sensing are electromagnetic frequencies, and I’m going to take you to a new group where you’ll learn to use that sense to your advantage. Are you ready to go?” 

Is he ready? He’ll go anywhere as long as it’s not the medbay. “Yes, ma’am.” 

The nice lady takes him by the hand and leads him out the door. As they walk through the facility, she talks to him. She tells him that her name is Shaak Ti and that she’s a Jedi. She also tells him that he was engineered to perceive electromagnetic frequencies, but there was a problem in his training and he slipped under the radar for a little while. Here, she lies to him, but ET-012 can’t be sure about what. 

They walk for a long time, traveling through the growth area and on several different lifts that make his eyes go out of focus. She holds his hand when he winces at the ringing, letting him squeeze it tightly. 

“Breathe, little one,” she says. “Focus on what’s around you and try to make it make sense.” ET-012 isn’t sure what that means, but he thinks it might help a little bit. 

At last, they make it to another set of barracks. It’s big, big enough for ET-012 to wonder just  _ how many  _ clones live on Kamino. They take a turn and then another and another and then ET-012 loses track, and then Shaak Ti stops in front of a door. Like the others, it’s labeled with the batch number (99), but there’s no batch date or list of inhabitants. Just… 99. Shaak Ti opens the door. 

Inside is… not a normal barrack. The first thing ET-012 notices is the size. It’s tiny, just barely the size of the locker area of his old barracks. It also has bunks instead of tubes, a style of bed ET-012 only recognizes from listening to the older cadets. Lastly, it only has three inhabitants, all roughly ET-012’s age. 

The three cadets sit on the floor in a semicircle reading from a datapad. Classwork, most likely. The one on the left is huge, at least as big as the cadets on their fifth growth cycle. He’s got a dopey smile on his face when he looks up at ET-012. The middle cadet is normal, another third-cycler like ET-012, probably, and the last one is small and skinny with a round face and huge goggles that magnify his eyes. ET-012 freezes, completely at a loss. 

Shaak Ti pushes him forward gently. “Everyone, this is ET-012. ET-012, this is Batch 99, comprising CTs 3295, 2350, and 8354. They’re like you, special. Different from your brothers.” 

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, the big kid stands. “Brother!” ET-012 is crushed in something he will later learn is known as a hug. 

* * *

“Dizzy, let’s move,” Hunter hollers, vaulting over the last barrier and starting towards the finish line. On the other side of the map, he can just make out Tech and Wrecker in about the same position, crashing their way through the remains of droids and shooting the last of the stragglers. 

“Coming,” Dizzy answers, falling into step beside him. “Any more clankers?” 

“Not that I can tell.” Hunter pauses just long enough to kick down a plastoid barrier before continuing. “Any trouble?” 

“None,” Dizzy pants. “Jump!” 

Hunter obliges, leaping up and over what on second glance turns out to be a tripwire. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

Hunter’s long since gotten used to doing what Dizzy says without question. When he gets that no-nonsense tone, it means he can tell something’s up. It’s his Bad Batch thing. Tech thinks, Wrecker bashes, Hunter senses, and Dizzy anticipates. And, on the flip side, Tech can’t fight to save his life, Wrecker is constantly confused, Hunter gets overwhelmed, and Dizzy gets, well,  _ dizzy.  _ It’s just how they roll. 

Something pings on the edge of his awareness. In the last few years, he’s worked with a variety of trainers to hone his skills to a knife edge. Now, any pain they cause is manageable, at least most of the time, and his senses are precise. Without so much as glancing back, he fires a shot over his shoulder and feels a turret deactivate. Then, he and Dizzy slide under a rope and pop to their feet, stumbling across the finish line just as Tech and Wrecker do the same. 

“Hell yeah,” Tech cheers, holding his hand up to Dizzy for a high-five. Dizzy falls over. 

“Nice,” Wrecker says, holding a hand out and hauling him to his feet. “You are clumsy, brother.”

“I get it from you,” Dizzy retorts.

Tech frowns. “I… don’t think that’s how genetics work.” 

“Clone Force 99!”

All four of them jump to attention. It’s Geyh, come to give them their training report. 

“Good work out there, boys. The time improvement was nice to see. However…”

Hunter tenses. There’s always a ‘however.’ ‘However, because you’re all fuck-ups, we’ll have to decommission you now. However, we’re going to be stealing your vode in the night just to show you we can. However, fuck you.’

“However, improvements can still be made. CT-8354, I’d like to speak with you now. The rest of you, latemeal and then bed.”

Hunter swallows his bile, not risking a glance either way. Dizzy’s been on thin ice with Geyh for weeks now, and it looks like Hunter’s nightmares might finally be coming true. He blinks once,  _ hard,  _ then salutes. “Yes, sir.”  _ I’d better see you in the barracks tonight, Dizzy.  _

Hunter sits up in his bunk long after lights out, willing the half-a-latemeal he’d eaten to stay put in his stomach where it’s currently sitting like a fat bantha. Dizzy hasn’t been back. 

Wrecker’s joined Tech on the bunk below him, curling around their smallest brother like Wrecker can protect him from the Longnecks, like sheer force of will has ever been enough to keep any of them alive. 

Gods, they’re all going to die. 

The door slides open and Hunter gets ready. Then, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, Dizzy steps through. He’s tired and looking vaguely shell-shocked, but he’s alive. Hunter drops down from the bunk and rushes over to him. “Dizzy! Are you alright? What did they want with you?” 

“Did they hurt you?” Tech demands, seconded by an angry rumble from Wrecker. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Dizzy insists, walking over to collapse on the bed next to Tech and Wrecker. Hunter perches next to them, closest to the door. “They just wanted to talk, believe it or not.”

“Who?”

“Geyh, mostly. And then some of the Longnecks. It was weird.” Dizzy sighs, leaning into Wrecker’s side and letting him paw at his hair. “Geyh told me a bunch of stuff about earning my place on the team and thinking about what I brought to the table. I’ve known it was coming for a while. I’m not stupid, you know, and he’s right. What do I bring to the table?” Hunter opens his mouth to protest, but Dizzy shushes him. “No, I’m right and you know it. You all do these crazy things and what do I do? React a little faster? Fall a little more? I mean, I’m always disoriented. There are other cadets who do the same thing but better, so why am I here?” Dizzy pauses for breath. “Anyway, I thought it was going to end in, you know,” he makes a crude gesture across his throat. “Especially since he walked me to the medical bay right afterwards. But it didn’t. They just strapped me to a table and took a bunch of blood tests. The Longnecks kind of ogled me for a while, then they let me go. That’s it.” 

For a few minutes, the four of them sit in baffled silence. Hunter contemplates Dizzy’s words, turning them over and considering them from every possible angle. Nothing good happens on Kamino, that’s a fact. Whatever the instructors are playing at is going to come around and bite them in the ass, the only questions are when and how. 

Tech must come to the same conclusion, because he says very simply, “We all have to be very careful.” 

Dizzy nods. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” 

* * *

The next few weeks proceed normally enough as to be disturbing. They eat, they sleep, they train, they beat the shit out of other squads in training exercises, they eat more, they sleep. Around and around and around they go, where they stop, everyone else knows.

Hunter spends a lot of his free time contemplating Dizzy and Geyh’s words. Why  _ is  _ Dizzy on the team? What makes Dizzy so special that, in spite of the spaciness, there’s no one Hunter would rather have at his side? 

Dizzy catches things that no one else does. He can read a situation so well it’s almost like he can see what’s going to happen before it does. He can tell when people are upset or happy or angry or lying. He can run faster and go longer without food and sleep and tolerate more extreme weather than any of the other clones. He’s just different. Different enough that Kamino tolerated him. 

Now, though, it appears that their patience is coming to an end. 

* * *

Hunter stays on guard for months. He watches every move the instructors make. He doesn’t let Dizzy out of his sight. His precautions have precautions. According to Tech, he behaves like a ‘paranoid first-time mother with PTSD.’ 

His madness, however valid it might be, does not prevent his methods from being effective. The entirety of the Bad Batch makes it almost to the end of their seventh year unharmed.

In the end, it’s a routine training run that gets him. 

“Thirty by twenty-seven,” Tech calls, putting into motion one of their more convoluted plans. A drone whizzes over Hunter’s head as he hits the deck, leaving a vibrant trail in its wake. It explodes into a galaxy of sparks moments later, taken down by Dizzy’s rifle. 

Wrecker whoops from somewhere off to Hunter’s right. Hunter doesn’t stick around to hear it, though, busy as he is with the close-range combat sim someone’s put down in his path. A quick knife to the gelatinous side takes care of the dummy and it’s back to running. 

Ahead of him, a rope dangles from the upper level, one that’ll bring him back together with the rest of the Batch and allow them to complete the drill together. It should be easy. 

It should’ve been easy. 

Hunter wraps his foot in the rope and starts climbing hand over hand, chasing the voices of Dizzy and Wrecker cheering him on and the sound of Tech eviscerating a droid. He’s almost there. He’s almost there. 

He feels, rather than sees, the droid that fires the shot. Damn thing pops up from the faux undergrowth and fires a single shot. It’s nowhere near Hunter, way over his head, but that doesn’t stop it from hitting the rope. Hunter’s stomach floats up somewhere around his lungs. 

He’s at least six meters in the air, plenty far enough for it to hurt like hell on the way down. Worse, he’s gotten tangled up in the rope and he’s now falling on his side, flailing through the air in an attempt to right himself. Oh, Gods, here it comes-

There is no impact. Hunter cracks an eye open to see… what?

He’s hovering mere centimeters above the ground, actually  _ hovering,  _ and when he looks up, Dizzy is leaning over the lip of the top level, arms outstretched and face a startling mask of worry and shock. He relaxes. Hunter drops, falling to the floor with hardly a twinge. 

Then, the sims shut down and a door slams open somewhere in the arena. The lights power off, bathing them all in red emergency light. Geyh’s heavy footsteps echo across the level above him. 

“CT-8354,” Geyh’s voice rings out, stern and  _ scared  _ in a way Hunter didn’t know instructors could be. 

Hunter feels a blaster power up. Tech screams. A shot. Dizzy is falling. 

No.  _ No.  _ This isn’t happening. 

Dizzy falls, limbs akimbo and head twisted at a horrible angle. He hits the ground next to Hunter with a sick  _ thud.  _ Hunter looks to the side and makes eye contact with the oozing hole in his brother’s forehead. 

He stands up. He throws up. Tech screams again. Wrecker is crying. 

“This is what happens when you step outside the lines,” Geyh says. Hunter cranes his neck until he can see the vile creature perched on the instructors’ platform. “Do you see?” 

Silence.

“I said, ‘do you  _ see,  _ troopers?!” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Go back to the barracks and prepare for live training.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

* * *

The next morning, the door slides open of its own accord. One of the Longnecks is standing there, shadowed by a cadet. He’s probably eight standard, but it’s hard to tell. He’s tall and thin and his eyes and hair are washed out like someone put him in the washer on the wrong setting. 

“Clone Force 99, this is ET-017, your new batchmate.” 

“Call me Crosshair.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hihihi two posts in two days? On God?  
> Anyways if anyone wants The Bad Batch meta for this fic (of which there is much) lmk below or on tumblr @chiafett. May the force be with you!


End file.
